


Still Some Mischief for Idle Hands

by mokuyoubi



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Declarations Of Love, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Family, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, For legitimate purposes, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Virgin Oswald Cobblepot, kind of, loopy Ed, not quite blowjobs, post episode: s04e15, you might get a cavity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-13 22:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14122605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: It was a gradual defrosting, first the swell of his chest against Oswald’s filling with a shuddering breath, then the gentle pressure of his hand on Oswald’s shoulder. The curve of his palm pushing Oswald away and the curl of his fingers, clenched in Oswald’s housecoat pulling him in. And then, oh so achingly slow, the parting of his lips and the suction, gentle as to be nearly undetectable, pulling Oswald’s bottom lip between his own.Post 4x15, slight canon divergence where Oswald just can't help himself when Ed starts talking about "strong desires..." There is kissing, and tending of wounds, and Martin sneaking Ed ice cream as he convalesces. Plus loopy, drug-addled Ed confessing all the things he'd like to do to Oswald...Based on my tumblr head-canonhere





	1. Chapter 1

Oswald had spent the entire drive preparing himself, planning just what to say. Words came easily to him for the most part, but when he allowed emotion to get the better of him, he couldn’t be sure not to let something slip he’d rather keep hidden, especially around Ed. The man already had too much power over him--to have Oswald give up his chance at revenge to save Ed, even after all the betrayal, all the attempts at killing him--it was untenable, and he’d almost turned around a hundred times on the way to the docks.

But here they were again, this cursed place. The source of too many scars both physical and psychological, and this time they were standing shoulder to shoulder. Having Ed beside him again, it was playing havoc with Oswald’s emotions. All that careful planning of how to behave and what to say, warning himself to carefully meter his words and actions, went flying out the window when Ed spoke.

“I have a strong desire,” he said, and paused, and unthinking, Oswald went up on his toes to press a chaste kiss to the bloodied corner of Edward’s mouth.

Whatever else Ed had planned to say dried up on his tongue, mouth half-parted to speak, but no words forthcoming. He stood frozen, not even breathing. Only his eyes gave sign of life, darting nervously to the side to watch Oswald. It wasn’t quite the reaction Oswald had anticipated. Ed had never responded to Oswald’s declarations of love with anything other than scorn at best, and deadly violence at worst.

The reasonable portion of his mind was screaming at him not to press his luck, but Ed’s perfect stillness drew him in. A reminder of the man who’d first befriended Oswald, overeager and terribly naive. All that lovely uncertainty and confusion was too intoxicating, and Oswald pressed forward again, his hands coming up to grab Ed’s blood-stiff collar and pull him in. 

This time their lips met full-on, though Oswald wasn’t sure he could call it a kiss. Ed’s mouth was lax and as still as the rest of him. Memories of all the times they’d stood here in the past echoed in Oswald’s mind. Ed’s voice, cold and even, saying, “I don’t love you.” It stirred the pulsing miasma of love, hurt, and that old rage--at every school bully, at Fish and her goons, at everyone in his life who’d told him he wasn’t deserving of love, and at himself for believing it. 

Oswald kissed him harder at the thought. Even he wasn’t certain if it was to hurt Ed, or to convince himself it wasn’t true. He was overwhelmed by the taste of copper. Dried blood wetted on the insides of his lips. Ed let out the breath he’d been holding. 

It was a gradual defrosting, first the swell of his chest against Oswald’s filling with a shuddering breath, then the gentle pressure of his hand on Oswald’s shoulder. The curve of his palm pushing Oswald away and the curl of his fingers, clenched in Oswald’s housecoat pulling him in. And then, oh so achingly slow, the parting of his lips and the suction, gentle as to be nearly undetectable, pulling Oswald’s bottom lip between his own.

Ed’s mouth was a raw wound, all pulpy gums and the rush of liquid blood spilling on Oswald’s tongue. It was stomach turning, but Ed was kissing him back with that arousing uncertainty. His other hand had come up to grip Oswald’s elbow, long fingers forming a delicate cradle. When Oswald licked across the swell of Ed’s upper lip, the grip turned bruising. A full-body shudder went through him, and he let out a whimper of pain.

Oswald drew back just enough to ease the pressure on Ed’s mouth, mouths closing once more to one another. He could feel the pressure of Ed’s tongue, enclosed within his own lips, swiping across his wounded gums, no doubt probing his ruined teeth. It was a grounding sensation, bringing Oswald back to the moment.

As much as Oswald had fantasised about kissing Ed and torturing him, in equal measure and often times simultaneously, Ed’s reaction in the moment was like being doused in cold water. This was hardly the time or place, when Ed had been injured and, more importantly, Martin was still ensconced away God knew where. Still, pulling away from Ed took more effort than simply recognising the necessity of doing so. 

They were two repelling magnets finally flipped on their ends, colliding with too much force to be separated so easily. He could loosen his grip on Ed’s shirt, put a breath of space between them, but he couldn’t let go entirely.

“I apologise,” Oswald whispered.

Ed’s eyes snapped open, gave a little shake of his head. “For what?”

Hope warred with caution, and Oswald finally stepped back, hands falling at his side. Ed, who always towered over him, seemed smaller somehow. “You need a doctor, and I need to see Martin.”

As if Oswald’s words reminded him of his injury, Ed probed at his jaw with two fingers and winced. It was distracting, the dried blood flaking away to reveal the kiss-reddened skin around his mouth. “I’m fine for now, and so is Martin.” He too took a step back and adjusted his suit jacket. “What about Sophia?”

It would be too late now. On the way it had been impossible to miss the scramble of the police force--patrol cars and ambulances screaming down the freeway, and the whirring blades of helicopters overhead. Oswald closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath, swallowing down the disappointment and the inevitable surge of murderous rage that followed at losing his opportunity. 

But another opportunity presented itself, and Oswald was coming to learn the importance of focussing on what he had as opposed to what he’d lost. His quest for more power had cost him his mother. His jealousy of Isabella had cost him Ed’s friendship. His quest for revenge had cost him Ivy, Fries, Firefly--all his allies--and it had almost cost him Martin. If he kept following this path, he’d be alone with no one to blame but himself.

“Martin,” he said firmly, “And then a doctor. I think Lee and Jim can handle Sophia between the two of them.”

Ed scoffed, and then winced again. “Fine,” he snapped, and Oswald knew his peevishness was over more than the pain. No doubt that brilliant mind was spinning from the events of the past ten minutes. Easier to focus on a task than dwell on his emotions. 

With a course of action, he was rejuvenated, heading toward the car with purpose. He clapped his hands together and said again, “Fine. Martin is quite eager to see you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Riddler's Lair, some quality time between Oswald and Martin, and Oswald tending to our poor, wounded Ed.

The drive from the docks to the Narrows was quick, not in the least because of Ed driving like a maniac, swerving in and out of traffic and laying on the horn far more than was strictly necessary. He’d brightened considerably at seeing his bowler waiting for him on the dashboard, giving Oswald a look that bordered uncomfortably on reverent, and after having set it atop his head, seemed much more at ease in his own skin.

Eventually they ended up in a part of town that even Oswald wasn’t familiar with, down one winding back alley after another, the buildings so close they blocked out the sunlight. 

There Ed ditched the car and led the rest of the way on foot. Down to a basement apartment and through the back stone garden to an underground tunnel that came out in a fully enclosed courtyard. The four buildings surrounding were featureless, several stories tall, with broken out and boarded up windows. 

Oswald’s lip curled back in a sneer, disgusted on Martin’s behalf, having been left here. “What _is_ this place?”

Ed, who was tapping a random pattern on a nondescript brick wall, flashed him a smirk over his shoulder. “Oh, just a little something I’ve been working on while _he_ was sleeping.” The way he said it, Oswald knew Ed was referring to himself, and he couldn’t help the rush of vindictive pleasure at the Riddler pulling one over on the smug, self-satisfied version who’d sat before him in Arkham only a few days ago.

Still, this wasn’t what he’d imagined, when Ed had said Martin was safe. At Ed’s tapping, a portion of the wall slid back to reveal a dark, narrow corridor. “You left him here? Alone?”

“Safe as houses,” Ed mumbled. He went to the door at the end. “See, it’s rigged so that if anyone enters without my voice print, it’ll activate a failsafe.”

“Failsafe,” Oswald echoed dubiously.

Ed flung open the door with a flourish to reveal a cavernous room, partitioned off into smaller spaces with strange, electronic panels that flashed with vibrant green question marks. More of them littered the floor directly in front of the door, though these were a dull grey. Oswald made his way across them, cautiously, and once he was by Ed’s side, Ed flicked a switch that caused them to come to life, blue sparks dancing around the perimeter. “They’d be in for a bit of a shock.”

Oswald stared at him in growing horror. “You left Martin here? With _this_?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mini-Penguin is perfectly fine.” Ed waved a dismissive hand. “I left him with ice cream and cartoons in the safe room, and anyway, I made sure the panels were calibrated to his weight--he wouldn’t be able to set them off.”

It was hardly reassuring, especially when Ed gleefully pointed out all his other little traps scattered through the warehouse. On the other hand, some of them were quite ingenious. It might be useful to have a few installed after he retook the Lounge and set up headquarters. A smile crossed his lips at the thought of some hapless idiot trying to ride the elevator to his office without the proper clearance, and triggering poisonous gas.

Past the traps and spoils of Ed’s past crimes, and the sparkling green mirror ball that had Oswald shaking his head in disbelief, there was a repurposed bank vault. Ed spun the handle and hauled the door open to reveal a rather cosy looking sitting room. Martin was safely ensconced within, sleeping curled up in an oversized armchair beneath a crocheted blanket. Oswald was torn between running to embrace him and allowing the boy his rest.

“Poor thing,” Ed remarked, without much inflection of actual concern in his voice. “Probably didn’t get much sleep with those buffoons laughing and grunting and snoring loud enough to tear the whole apartment building down.” As he spoke, his expression turned dark, his voice into a low snarl. “Blowing them up was quicker and easier than they deserved.”

Oswald laid a hand on his forearm, and then considered whether it was a mistake, given how Ed stiffened under the touch, and removed it again. “Thank you Ed,” he said sincerely. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

Ed regarded him sidelong, from under the sweep of thick lashes. His eyes were dark in the shadow of his hat brim. “I think I do,” he said. He hesitated, mouth parted like he meant to say something, then turned to face Oswald headon. “Oswald, I--”

Martin stirred and rubbed his eyes sleepily, and then finally seemed to notice Riddler and Penguin. He pushed off his blanket and flung himself out of the chair and across the room. Bad leg be damned, Oswald went down on his knees to wrap Martin in his arms. “I’m so glad you’re safe, Martin.” Martin nodded his head, arms clinging tighter around Oswald’s neck. “Let’s go home.”

*

Sophia’s coma and Oswald’s escape had thrown Gotham in turmoil. The underworld was scrambling to consolidate power, every underboss hoping to seize the opportunity to take the throne, while waiting nervously for Oswald’s play. Until Oswald could find some dependable muscle, he wasn’t quite ready to jump into the fray. If it were only his life he had to worry about he would already be on the move. But now there was Martin’s safety to consider...and Edward’s, as well.

His own inaction now only served to fuel their paranoia and kept them too busy fighting amongst themselves to come after him. The private security he’d hired for the time being might not have any personal loyalty, but after Zsasz and Butch and Gabe, maybe it was just better to appeal to their greed and pay them more than they could ever hope to make anywhere else in the city. 

Allow Ed to heal first, and then together they could figure out where to go from here, that was the plan. At the moment, on the ridiculous amount of painkillers the doctor had prescribed, Edward was essentially useless, and once upon a time (okay, maybe not that long ago) Oswald would have been annoyed with being made to wait. Patience never was his strong suit, and neither was playing nursemaid. 

But though he might try to deny it, Ed had always brought out a different side in Oswald. And so he found himself bustling an indignant Olga from the kitchen and fixing soup that went mostly uneaten the first day. Ed slept almost a whole twenty-four hours through, waking only to stare dumbly at the pills in Oswald’s hand, swallowing them down with a grimace, and flopping back down on the pillow. 

He was utterly pathetic, hair greasy against his sweaty forehead, cheeks swollen from the packed gauze, and still Oswald’s heart clenched at the sight of him, sleeping peacefully once again under the mansion roof. Oswald reached out to touch and stopped short, and then, reasoning that as he’d already _kissed_ the man he might as well, gave into the urge to brush the fringe back from his brow. Was he imagining the way the tension around Ed’s eyes relaxed, or the curl of a smile on his lips?

Martin was a fine diversion, eager to tell of all the tricks he’d played on his captors. How stupid and boring they’d been, and so easy to fool. Oswald’s heart swelled with pride, and not a little vindictive thrill to know what a headache he must have been to his enemies. 

After dinner was finished, and Martin had been tucked into bed with a story, Oswald managed to wake Ed long enough to change his gauze and swallow back his oxy and amoxicillin. Then he poured himself a generous glass of a dusty bottle of ‘47 Musigny. He’d been sleeping with one eye open for weeks, and even then with the constant wailing and muttering of the madhouse, and now, relaxing into his own mattress was downright luxurious.

In the morning Oswald woke late to find Martin had already thoroughly ingratiated himself with Olga, who had made a veritable feast of breakfast treats. It was such a relief to see Martin’s grinning face again that Oswald couldn’t muster much more than some mild exasperation at the mountain of pastries on his dining table.

Edward was sitting up in his bed, propped up with several pillows, and blinked blearily at Oswald several times before erupting into a beatific smile. “OSWALD!” he exclaimed. “You came!”

Oswald paused just inside the door, momentarily taken aback. “It is my home, after all, Ed,” he said at last, coming in to sit the breakfast tray on the bedside table. “How are you feeling this morning?” He sat on the edge of the bed and placed the back of his hand to Ed’s forehead. The doctor had warned of the possibility of infection, but the fever from yesterday was gone.

Ed gazed up at him with a dreamy expression. “Wonderful,” he said, and reached up to lace his fingers through Oswald’s. “I--Oswald, this bed is…” he cast about for a minute, gesturing with their joint hands as if searching for the appropriate word, and settled on “wonderful.”

Oswald couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “Did you already have another percocet?”

“Is that what that was?” Ed asked. He craned his neck to look at the bottles on his nightstand. “Martin gave me them with breakfast.”

“Oh?” Martin hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort.

Edward fished around in the blankets piled all around him, and produced a crystal bowl with the melted remnants of pistachio ice cream. “He remembered my favourite kind.”

Oswald’s lips pinched in dismay. He snatched the bowl from Ed, who snagged the spoon in passing to lick the last droplets away. “It’s only been three days, and you’re not exactly that creative in your preferences,” Oswald said. “It was either this or mint chocolate.”

“‘at’s goo boo,” Ed mumbled with the spoon still hanging from his mouth. It was hard to stay annoyed when Ed was so good tempered and hopelessly adorable. Oswald was all too aware that Ed still held his other hand in loose fingers, and of the body heat that radiated from him, even beneath the bedclothes and through Oswald’s trousers. 

He distracted himself from any treacherous wandering thoughts by reaching for the water on the nightstand and passing it over. “The doctor said it was important you keep hydrated. And how are the stitches? Have you changed your gauze?”

Ed’s throat worked around a long swallow of water. His fingers spasmed, clenching tighter around Oswald’s before loosening again. “The bleeding seems to have stopped, which is nice,” he said, then pulled a face, tonguing along the front of his teeth. “I have to say, I wasn’t a fan.”

“You looked...magnificent,” Oswald whispered, without quite meaning to, but Ed froze, much like he had at the touch of Oswald’s mouth against his skin. “Fierce.” He dropped his head to stare at their joined hands rather than Ed’s unwavering gaze. “I hadn’t dared hope--but you. You didn’t give me up.”

After a long moment of silence on Ed’s part, Oswald was about to stand and disentangle himself, when Edward clenched his fingers tightly. Oswald looked up at the almost shy smile on Ed’s face. “I tried living without you," he said. "It didn’t turn out so well.” Another silence, then Ed asked, “Do you remember when Barbara tried to get you to give me up.”

Oswald’s mood soured. He tried to take his hand back, but Ed held firm. “How could I forget?”

“No, but do you remember what you said, that you had thought you’d loved me, before, but you were wrong?”

With a sharp tug, Oswald pulled himself free and stood. “I’m glad that we can work together again, Edward, but there are some things best left in the past.” He studiously avoided Ed’s face. “Make sure you have plenty to drink. I’ll be back with lunch.”

Oswald tapped Martin gently on the head with the bowl on his way to the kitchen. “No more ice cream for breakfast, young man.” 

Martin’s answering grin was far too unapologetic for Oswald’s taste. He started scribbling on his notepad, and Oswald waited patiently for him to hold it up. _He took care of me. I wanted to do the same for him_.

There wasn’t much Oswald could say to that, but for some reason, he found himself frowning. Martin had started writing again. _Are you friends again?_

Oswald drew a deep breath, trying to buy time as he searched for the right words, and took the seat beside Martin’s. “We’re not fighting one another anymore.”

Martin’s brow furrowed as he wrote. _But you’re not friends?_ He kept writing. _Because friends make us weak._

Oswald could feel a headache coming on, and resisted the urge to rub his forehead. “Martin,” he said diplomatically, “you know that when I’m angry, I sometimes say things I don’t mean.” Martin stared wide-eyed. “The fact is, when you love someone, even when they make you angry, even when they betray you, it isn’t so easy to stop loving them.”

_Love?_

“Yes.” Oswald smiled, and laid a hand on Martin’s shoulder. If he were going to raise this boy, he had to do it right. Not give him the same emotional hang-ups he had. Maybe Martin could find happiness even if Oswald never did. “You know I love you, right Martin?”

Martin bit his lip, and bent over his notepad. _You’re not going to make me leave again?_

Oswald shook his head. “You’re staying right here with me.”

 _Good._ And then, _And what about Uncle Ed? Can he stay, too?_

 _Uncle_ Ed. Oswald’s brows shot up to his hairline in surprise, but he couldn’t deny the warming feeling at hearing Martin call him that. “That,” Oswald said, “is entirely up to him.”

Oswald stood, and stopped at Martin’s hand on his sleeve. _I love you too,_ and then scrawled beneath, in smaller, rushed print, _Dad_. He held up, expression nervous, then dropped the pad back around his neck to sling his arms around Oswald’s waist. Oswald brought his arms up, one hand on Martin’s back, the other ruffling his hair, and bent to press a kiss to the crown of his head. He couldn’t help but be reminded of his mother’s embrace, where he’d felt safe from the entire world. How he wished she could be here now to meet Martin.

Despite everything that stood before him, the monumental task of retaking his rightful place at the top of the criminal empire in Gotham, Oswald thought in that moment he had possibly never been happier.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the fic starts to earn it's rating. ie SEX.  
> And I'm sure it's all about to be jossed by the new episode... (who am I kidding, after all the Riddler and Penguin love the past few episodes, we're probably not going to get any tonight :/ ) So enjoy this instead!

Martin insisted on helping bring Ed his lunch, since anymore ice cream had been vetoed for the time being. He’d found a book of puzzles in some dusty corner while exploring the library, and was excited to present it to Ed.

Ed was far more lucid than he’d been before with the oxy mostly worn off. His smile, when Martin produced the book, was strained and there was a furrow of pain between his eyes. “Thank you,” he mumbled around his gauze. He flipped through a few pages of the book. “These are the good ones--they don’t make them like this anymore.”

Martin was practically beaming and honestly, if Oswald hadn’t already forgiven Ed, that might have done the trick. He busied himself at the tray to hide his pleasure. “Maybe you can try to get something _healthy_ down today.” He’d used one of his mother’s old recipes, and he was hardly the cook she’d been, but he thought it turned out pretty well.

Ed’s eyes fluttered closed and he hummed in appreciation at the first sip. Oswald knew he was preening, negative bird associations be damned. Ed’s pleasure still brought him pleasure, in turn, and there was no denying it. Especially not after his behaviour on the docks. But though Ed saw it, he didn’t tease. His eyes fixed briefly on Oswald’s, dark and unreadable, and oddly intense. Something in the look made Oswald shift in discomfort and fight the urge to pull at his sweater collar. 

Then Ed turned his attention back to his soup, and Martin. “Did you figure out that riddle from earlier?”

Martin nodded eagerly, and began to sketch, a moment later holding up a drawing that was unmistakably a coffin. “Clever!” Ed exclaimed. He patted Martin's shoulder awkwardly, but with a certain fondness, and darted a look briefly at Oswald and back again. “He’s much better at this than you, Oswald.”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “Good, then maybe you can annoy him with your riddles, instead of me.”

“Don’t be a poor sport,” Ed said, and Oswald didn’t think he was imagining the flirtatious lilt of his voice. “I’ll just make yours easier.” He and Martin shared a conspiratorial smile, and Oswald huffed in feigned annoyance.

“Eat your soup.”

They came again at dinner, and at Martin’s pleading to stay and keep Ed company a while longer, and Edward’s insistence that he’d like to stay up a bit, Oswald caved and let Martin wheel in the old tv stand. The bed was more than big enough for the three of them, but while Martin climbed right in, Oswald hesitated. “I’ll just get a chair.”

“That’s not necessary.” Ed patted the bed on his other side. Oswald weighed the pros: being that close to Edward, versus the cons: being that close to Edward. Martin was giving him a strange look, and Ed an expectant one. Oswald crossed to Martin’s side of the bed, and climbed up with as much dignity as he could,.

Martin picked some old cartoon that had his shoulders shaking in silent laughter, and Ed chuckling. It wasn’t to Oswald’s taste, but then he wasn’t focussed on the television, anyway. There was still so much to process from the events of the last few days. To have Ed in his home again, the two of them being not only civil, but friendly, it was far too distracting. 

And there was still that jaded portion of his mind that warned it was only a matter of time before Ed betrayed him again. That perhaps this was all part of some plan of his, to lure Oswald into a false sense of security so that when he struck, it made his victory that much sweeter. Those were the thoughts that had occupied his mind, along with the vivid memory of that kiss--the taste of Edward’s blood and the soft swell of his lips, and his fingers clutching at Oswald.

It was hardly appropriate to dwell on such things, especially while in the same bed with Ed and Martin. He felt hot and distinctly uncomfortable, the faint buzz of arousal he’d felt so long while in Edward’s proximity, even over the course of the past year.

Thankfully, it was only an episode before Ed’s discomfort grew to the point where he was wincing in pain every time he laughed. Once he took the medication, it would only be a half hour at best before they kicked in and Oswald could escape to the solace of his own room, to suffer in privacy.

After a time, Ed went into the en suite to rinse his mouth with salt water. When he returned, he discarded his glasses on the nightstand and tumbled down onto the bed, this time beside Oswald and he rolled right up against his side. Martin glanced over at them briefly with an annoyed expression at the shaking of the bed, before turning his attention back to the cartoon.

“Oswald,” Ed mumbled, face turned into Oswald’s shoulder. “You remember that song you sang to me?”

Oswald was caught off-guard, and searched his memory for any _singing_ he’d done around Ed. 

Martin looked intrigued. _You sing?_ Oswald shrugged in answer, hands flung in the air. He frowned at Ed, who seemed to be trying to worm even closer than was actually possible. He had to fight the urge to scramble off the bed to escape. “Do you mean my mother’s lullaby?”

Ed shook his head, cheek dragging back and forth across Oswald’s sweater. “You know the one.” He tilted his face upward. Oswald almost jumped at the sensation of his nose pressed into the bare curve of his neck. Ed's breath was hot when he parted his lips. “Swimming over me in the bed.”

Oswald’s cheeks caught fire. He studiously avoided looking at Martin or Edward, looking straight ahead instead at the cartoon antics. “I’m sure I’ve never sung anything like _that_ before.”

“Sure you did,” Ed insisted, and then sang softly, “ _Pour myself over him, moon spilling in_.” He trailed off, lips pursed against Oswald’s pulse, and Oswald swallowed roughly. “I wake up alone,” Ed said. “You were always gone, Oswald.”

“Um, Martin.” Oswald cringed out how high-pitched his voice came out, and cleared his throat. He carefully extracted himself from Ed’s hold, and goodness, the man had such very long limbs that kept grasping at him. Fingers catching in his sweater, foot hooking over his ankle. “I think Edward needs his rest now, and besides it’s getting late; you should be getting to bed.”

“Oswald.” Ed’s hand closed around his wrist. “Don’t leave me alone again.”

“Ah…” Oswald was struck speechless by the pleading tone. The look in Ed’s eyes, uninterrupted by the lenses of his glasses, was a dark longing that pulsed hot in Oswald’s gut. He swallowed again, mouth hopelessly dry. “Go on, Martin, I’ll tend to Ed.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Martin, Ed tugged Oswald closer, and plastered himself along his side with one leg thrown over Oswald’s thighs. One fine-boned hand came to rest on his stomach, just above the line of his trousers, fingers splayed. Oswald drew an unsteady breath and focussed on the exhale to distract himself from the sensation.

Ed gave a little roll of his hips and chuckled, a low, sensuous sound that rippled down Oswald’s spine. “So pale,” he murmured, and then Oswald jumped at the press of Ed’s lips to his skin again, this time just under his jaw. He lapped his tongue over the spot. “Like milk.” Lips parted to place a sucking kiss. “Soft.”

Oswald couldn't have anticipated how strangely thrilling it was to hear Ed speaking of him in that absent, almost clinical tone, as if he were categorising some specimen. His other hand came up to trace along the bow of Oswald's top lip, then down, exerting just enough pressure to gently part his lips. "Except your mouth. So distracting, that pink." His tone grew sinister. "You wouldn't leave me alone. You wouldn't let me _think_."

“Ed.” Oswald trembled, not even daring to breathe when Ed’s hand moved. Nudging fabric aside, sliding beneath, to rest in the same place as before only skin to skin now. Ed’s palm was brandingly hot; the muscles of Oswald’s stomach leapt into the touch.

“Hmm?” The sound vibrated along Oswald’s jaw, the sensation chased by Ed’s tongue, up to where it met his ear, and then Ed sucked the lobe delicately between his teeth.

“Aah--” Oswald’s whole body went stiff, the cry barely more than a whisper, though it seemed to echo through the room. But _oh,_ he’d never imagined that such a simple touch could have such a powerful effect. Just the gentle scrape of Ed’s teeth and the swirl of his tongue, and Oswald went from the first stirrings of arousal to painfully, embarrassingly hard.

And Ed knew. The wicked curve of his smile pressed against Oswald’s cheek, and the undulation of his hips, knee rising to nudge the bulge in Oswald’s trousers. His hand smoothed up Oswald’s chest to rest above his racing heart, and the other cupped Oswald’s chin, turning him to meet Ed's kiss. 

Oswald keened into his mouth, as Ed licked past his lips. “Your mouth,” Oswald mumbled, words swallowed up by Ed’s kisses. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Ed shook his head distractedly, leaning back just a little, gaze darting between Oswald’s lips and eyes and back again. “Can’t feel it now.” His voice, a low-pitched growl, sent little shivers down Oswald’s scalp, and Oswald didn’t protest again when Ed caught his mouth in another kiss.

Edward’s own arousal was an insistent hardness against Oswald’s hip. Oswald was going to melt from the shame or the desire, or perhaps some combination of the two. He couldn’t bear this, nor could he pull away from Ed’s soft, swollen mouth that still tasted just a little of that coppery tang of blood. 

His stomach went concave under the touch when Ed’s hand began its trek back down to rest, fingers tapping, against the buckle of Oswald’s belt. A question, and Oswald didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t cause him to just burn away into ash from embarrassment. Instead, he arched his back into the touch and brought up a shaking hand to run through Edward’s hair. He opened his mouth wider to Edward’s kiss, and hoped he understood. 

Ed's lips stretched in a smile, and his long fingers made quick work of the belt, and then the button and zipper beneath. “I’ve done this so many times in my dreams,” Ed hummed against his lips. He placed a closed mouth kiss to each corner of Oswald’s mouth, then another to the point of his nose, the jut of his chin. “You’d just twist away into smoke.” 

His hand thrust down suddenly, between cloth and skin, to close around Oswald’s cock, and Oswald cried out, helpless, blinded by the pleasure. This was nothing like he could have imagined, nothing like his own hand on himself, when he gave into temptation, shaky, uncertain touches that left him ashamed.

Edward’s grip was sure, fingers curled just so, and when he gave a long, tight stroke, his thumb swept across the head, teasing another cry from Oswald’s lips. He stifled it with his fist to his mouth, teeth biting down on his knuckles. His back was one taut line, likely to snap in half. Buttocks clenched, hips arched into Edward’s touch. 

“You're not slipping away this time.” Ed's words were a silken threat.

Oswald clasped at him, fingers closed tightly in the front of Ed’s button down pajama top and the other hand tugging at his hair. “Please, Ed.” It was so incredibly filthy, the way Edward’s fingertips stroked him, as if learning the shape, every ridge, every vein. The sort of exploration Oswald would never have indulged in, and it felt deliriously good. His head flopped back on the pillow as he sucked in great, gulping breaths. It didn’t seem enough. 

Ed kissed down his throat, coming to rest his face in the curve of Oswald’s neck. He eased Oswald’s cock from his underwear and stroked him again, slower and looser this time. Easing back foreskin. Once, twice, three times, the last smearing all the gathered liquid in the palm of his hand, and then he let go. Oswald tried to swallow a bereft sound, but couldn’t catch it before it escaped his lips.

“Shh,” Ed soothed, and Oswald watched in aching disbelief as he licked his glistening palm. Then Ed was touching him again, deliciously wet, moving fast and rough. Oswald’s body moved of its own volition, hips thrusting, seeking more. Ed nosed his skin, raising goosebumps in his wake. “Touch me, Oswald.”

It was the slightly desperate pleading in Edward's voice that had Oswald loosening his grip on Ed's shirt. He could barely believe what he was doing, fingers ghosting down Ed’s long, long body and hooking in the elastic of his waistband. Ed’s hand slowed, and his face tilted down to watch, and _oh_ this was so sinful, it was horrible, and still Oswald couldn’t stop himself from tugging downward, Ed shimmying his thin hips to help, until his cock sprang free above the waistband, as long and slender as the rest of him.

Oswald hadn’t expected the rush of pleasure at just _seeing_ Ed bared before him. The way his own cock throbbed when he touched his fingers to Ed’s, brushing down the hard, jutting line. Then he remembered, and brought his hand up to his mouth, sucking his fingers in. Ed tracked the movement, eyes dark with lust, and the second Oswald’s hand was out of the way, Ed lunged up to kiss him again. A hungry, painful clash, teeth digging in and tearing. That somehow made it easier to touch, to wrap trembling fingers around the hot length of him and mimic Ed’s movements. 

It was inelegant and awkward, and Oswald couldn’t have stopped no matter the cost. Ed was a foreign weight in his palm. There was more friction without the foreskin, and the ridges under the head of Ed's cock stood out in stark relief. He shuddered when Oswald stroked him there, letting out a harsh breath against his his cheek. "Do that again."

"L--like this?" Oswald asked, and swiped his thumb back and forth. Ed answered with the scrape of his teeth over skin. Oswald followed the lines upward to the point of the head of his cock, fingertips dragging through the leaking slit.

"Jesus, Oswald," Ed breathed. He bit down hard on Oswald's jaw, to the point of pain. "Yes, like that." He licked the spot, then into Oswald's mouth, and stroked Oswald almost desperately.

Oswald could feel his orgasm mounting. A reckless climb, ready to fling him over the edge. It was a loss of control so unlike that he displayed for others as to terrify him. Ed would see it now, and he’d know. That little hidden shred that Oswald had kept tucked away from everyone, including himself. He shook at the notion, turning his face away from the kiss to hide in the pillow, even as his hips drove him again and again into Edward’s touch.

“Look at me, Oswald.” Ed’s voice brooked no argument, rough and demanding. Oswald shook his head, cheeks burning, eyes clenched tightly shut. “Oswald.” Ed’s hand tightened and he stroked faster. “Oswald. Look. At. Me.”

Oswald shook his head again, frantically. “I--I can’t, I--” Oh god, he was there, teetering over the edge, and Edward’s fingers touched against his cheek, gently now, another plea. Oswald turned into them, eyes fluttering open to meet Ed’s. 

What did Ed see, all of Oswald laid bare? His own eyes, almost black in the low light were magnetic, sucking Oswald in, refusing to let him turn away again. Ed rewarded him with a sharp, twisting jerk of his wrist and the flick of his thumb around the sensitive exposed head of his cock. Tight little circles that were just too much sensation, then Oswald was spilling all over himself, all over Ed’s hand, a silent cry on his lips.

His own grip faltered, but Ed hardly seemed to notice. He groaned, a low sound that shocked all through Oswald’s nerves, and pulsed out through his cock. Ed ground his hips against Oswald’s, and he was coming, too, panting against the damp hollow of Oswald’s throat.

Almost at once all the suffocating heat of only moments before swept away, to be replaced with an empty, cold dread settling in Oswald’s stomach. Shame licked icy at his fingertips and toes, spreading pins and needles through his limbs. What would Ed think of him now? How could Oswald ever again stand to look him in the eye, or even speak to him again now that...now that…

Edward made a low, satisfied noise, and somehow Oswald’s spent, panicky body responded with another spark of heat low in his groin. Perhaps if he wished hard enough the earth would open up from beneath to swallow him whole.

“How are you so tense?” Ed asked. He stretched luxuriously and settled, sprawled over Oswald, pinning him to the bed. “You did come, right? I felt that? I might have been a bit distracted, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t mistake that.” He punctuated his words by licking a stripe of Oswald’s semen from his knuckles.

How could he _say_ these things so casually? Oswald didn’t know whether to be affronted or appalled. He needed to find some way out from under Ed’s boneless weight, and then go hide in his room possibly for the rest of his life.

“Oswald?” Ed shifted and lifted his head to look at him curiously. “Figures the sure-fire way to relax anyone else would just stress you out even more.” He paused, chin perched on Oswald’s breastbone, a thoughtful expression on his lips. “We could do it again.” He grinned and waggled his brows. “Until you don’t have the energy to worry about it anymore.”

“How--” Oswald’s words died on his lips. He tried again. “ _How_ are you so...so blasé about this?”

Edward squinted. “Probably the Percocet.” Then he waggled his brows again. “Do you want some?”

“I--Na--Yo--” Oswald sputtered uselessly. “You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

Edward sobered, staring intently at Oswald’s face. “Only if I wake up alone.” He picked up Oswald’s hand, still covered in his own release, and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the palm. 

A shudder went through Oswald. Heat suffused once more through his body. “Well. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to have someone on hand, if you need help in the night.”

Ed was just a little too bright-eyed for someone high on painkillers, as he beamed at Oswald’s words like the cat who’d caught the canary. He settled back with his head resting on Oswald’s chest, arms wound around him, and scooted in close. 

It was dreadfully uncomfortable. After a little squirming he managed to get his trousers off and his boxers back on properly, but then Ed was right back on him. His body heat was suffocating, and Oswald was all tangled up in the sheets, and every time he shifted, Ed followed. Oswald didn’t know how anyone could sleep like this…

"Stop fidgeting," Ed mumbled sleepily. His hand stroked lazy back and forth beneath Oswald's sweater, almost tickling up and down his side. Oswald focussed on it, and slowly felt the tension begin to bleed away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hit me up on tumblr if you wanna chat about these two idiots, I'm [moku-youbi](http://moku-youbi.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

He woke in much the same position, with sunlight streaming through the windows the only sign of the passage of time. Edward still slept, a peaceful expression on his upturned face, where it rested on Oswald’s stomach. The position had left him with one leg hanging half off the bed, but he hardly seemed to mind.

There was a desperate desire to escape before Ed woke. The sickly cold dread of what he would say, now that the medication had run its course and he realised what they’d done. Yet Ed was draped over him like a sentient blanket, and as soon as Oswald moved, he stirred.

“Oswald?” He rubbed blearily at his face, then hissed in pain. 

Oswald’s head thumped back against the pillow, eyes closed in defeat. Any second now would come the scrambling to get away, the shouted recrimination, the threats of violence. Edward shifted and sat up suddenly, and Oswald cracked open his eyes to risk a look. Ed had his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, looking around the room with a furrowed brow, then down at Oswald.

“Did that…” The pause fell heavy between them. Ed ran a hand down the front of his rumpled pajamas, and then his eyes landed meaningfully on Oswald’s discarded trousers. Ed’s voice dropped several pitches. “Really happen?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Oswald nodded. “Oh.” Ed’s tone was measured. Oswald had no idea what he might be thinking. Then an undeniably lascivious smile snaked across his lips. He bent over Oswald, until their lips were only a breath apart. “Good.”

Oswald melted at the touch of Edward’s mouth to his own. It was a gentle kiss, barely enough pressure to really be called one at first. Just Ed’s lips brushing back and forth, and the warm gust of his exhaled breath teasing across Oswald’s skin, before catching. One lip slotted between Oswald’s, and that almost unbearably delicate suction that made Oswald ache with longing. He brought up his hands unthinking to cling at Ed’s shoulders and opened his mouth in entreaty. 

Ed took the invitation. He licked into Oswald’s mouth, first just a dip of his tongue teasing past lips, then deeper. Oswald’s whole body thrilled at the kiss, the tang of blood and morning breath aside. It ended too quickly. “I don’t mind some pain,” Edward murmured, nuzzling along Oswald’s cheek to his ear, leaving shivers in his wake. “Especially given the reward. But I think I may have pushed myself a bit far.”

Oswald touched his hand gently to Ed’s swollen cheek in regret. It wasn’t as bad as it had been yesterday, and the yellowish bruises were fading from his jaw, but certainly all this...kissing wasn’t a good idea. “I’m sorry.”

Ed pulled back to look him in the eye, grinning. “I’m not,” he said, catching Oswald in another, far too brief kiss.

There was no escaping the suspicion of a trap--how easily Ed accepted this, after all his denials. After the way he’d frozen at the dock. Oswald put a hand to his chest, pushing him back a little. “Ed, you spoke as if...As if you’d…” he cleared his throat and steeled himself for saying it. It was absurd, given who he was and the things he’d done, to play shy. “ _Fantisised_ about the two of us. Together.”

Ed averted his eyes, a touch of red tinging the tops of his cheeks. “Are you surprised, after last night?”

“Yes!” Oswald sputtered. “You...” _You said you didn’t want me back, you said you never_ could _. You said you didn’t love me_. Oswald wasn’t naive, but he still held out hope that a physical attraction might possibly lead to something deeper.

“Oh.” That one small sound was full of profound meaning. Ed reached up to fidget with his glasses and then realised he wasn’t wearing them. He stared at the bedspread with a sheepish expression. “I didn’t realise, which was real and which was fake,” he mumbled, as if to himself. 

“Ed?” Oswald asked, halting.

Ed sat up and Oswald did the same. He gave his hands when Ed reached for them, holding them together in his lap. “When you let me out, how did you know you could trust me?”

“ _You_ came to _me_ ,” Oswald pointed out. “You needed me as much as I needed you.”

Ed’s lips quirked in amusement. “Yes, alright. I needed you. All along. But,” head tipped to the side, eyes lifting to meet Oswald’s. “Once you’d let me out, what made you trust I’d be back for you? I could have left then and there. Sophia means nothing to me, personally.”

“I--” It was a good question, and something Oswald found he didn’t entirely have the answer for. There was no good reason for him to trust Edward or the Riddler. Nothing, except what other choice did he have? Who else was there. “What are you trying to say?”

“I think you know,” Ed said.

That there has been no reason for Riddler to save Martin, no reason at all for him to have followed through and set Oswald free of Arkham. And even if some sense of honour compelled him to do so, then once Oswald was loose, why go to such lengths to help him fight Sophia? Lee, and Grundy, and withstanding torture and certain death--Oswald had witnessed him there on the dock, resigned to his fate, and all so Oswald could have his revenge. No reason at all, except…

“Yes,” Oswald agreed breathlessly. “But I think I’d like to hear you say it.”

Ed cupped his cheek and leaned in. Lips and breath teasing Oswald’s ear when he spoke. “I love you.”

Oswald’s eyes fell closed. Though he tried to contain himself, the tears still found a way, wetting his lashes, trickling down his cheek. Ed swiped his thumb through one and pressed a kiss there, then the corner of Oswald’s eye, his closed lid. “I love you, Oswald,” he murmured. Another kiss to the bridge of his nose, then the wing, and finally, a hand on Oswald’s neck tilting his face upward to meet his mouth.

Their mouths parted and Oswald let out a shuddering breath. “I love you too, Ed, I never stopped, I--” Ed pulled him in close, another rough kiss that had him exhaling roughly through his nose a sound of pain. Oswald pushed him away more firmly this time, chuckling wetly. “If you keep this up, you’re never going to heal.”

“I don’t care.” Ed kissed his jaw, distracted.

Oswald caught him gently but firmly by the chin. “Well I do. I’m very invested in your well-being.” He brushed his hand down Ed’s throat to the collar of his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles. His fingers caught on the space left by the first undone button, distracted by the bare skin beneath. 

Ed’s breath hitched. His hand came up to rest over Oswald’s, and, using their fingers together, worked the next button free. “There are other things we could do, in the meantime.”

At the words, Oswald’s heart picked up speed, beating as though it would break free from his chest. His stomach churned unpleasantly, but when Ed let his hand drop away, Oswald only hesitated a moment before continuing on his own to the next button, and the next, until the fabric fell open. 

In the shadows, the lines of his muscles stood out in stark contrast, just begging for Oswald’s touch. Desire had always been a shadowy, ambiguous thing for him. He’d known he wanted Ed, but the nature of it, what it entailed, that was always beyond his reach. It left him off-kilter, suddenly presented with everything he wanted before him. What did he do, without Ed to guide him as he had the night before? 

Oswald looked up at him for some clue, but Ed just watched him steadily. So he surrendered to the impulse, fingers tracing down the plane of Ed’s chest to the indentations of his stomach going concave under his touch. He wanted to touch with his mouth, as well. It was a thing people did, he knew, but would Ed find it strange, or foolish? 

Before he could think to long or hard about it, Oswald darted his head down to press his mouth to the swell of his pectoral. Ed let out a low breath, and when Oswald kissed downward, brought up a hand to lace through the hair at the back of Oswald’s neck. When he reached Ed’s belly button, he stopped, at a loss, and sat up. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” 

Ed’s fingers ruffled through his hair. He shook his head. “Do whatever you want.” Oswald wasn’t certain what it was Ed saw in his expression, but his face softened and he lay backwards, pulling Oswald down on top of him. “Come here.”

Once Oswald had settled into place, Ed tugged at the hem of his sweater, pulled it up and over and tossed it over the side of the bed. He started on the buttons of his shirt, and arched up to suck on the newly exposed skin at the hollow of Oswald’s throat. “Just touch me,” Ed licked the words into his flesh. “Kiss me.” Sharp teeth scraped over his collarbone with just enough pressure to draw forth a groan from Oswald’s throat. “However you want. I’m all yours, Oswald.”

Clever fingers made quick work of Oswald’s button down. Edward pushed it open and ran his hands beneath. He let out a frustrated sound as his fingers closed around Oswald’s undershirt and tugged. “How many layers are you _wearing_?”

Oswald huffed in indigence to cover his embarrassment. “I didn’t expect to fall asleep like this.”

“Up.” Ed jerked impatiently on the hem, and Oswald leaned up enough to get it over his head, no doubt leaving his hair in wild disarray. At once Edward’s hands were on him, smoothing up his ribcage, fingers sweeping up his back, along the lines of his shoulder blades. Such a simple touch, yet aside from his mother, no one had ever touched his naked body. There were all these delightful nerve-endings never before explored. 

And Edward seemed to delight in finding each one to make him sigh--the soft caress down the back of his arm--, or moan--sucking the muscle of his shoulder between the teeth and biting down--, or cry out--sliding one leg between Oswald’s, upward, just under the growing shape of his arousal.

Oswald tried to give as well as receive, but there was no finesse to his wandering hands, catching hold wherever he could on Ed’s body. The delightful cut of the muscles of his arms and shoulders, the play of them under Oswald’s hand with each shift of his body, denoting a previously unknown power lurking beneath Ed’s ostentatious suits. He kissed whatever skin was before him. The exposed line of Edward’s neck, tendons in stark relief. The curve of his jaw, dusted in three days worth of unshaven scruff--something that Oswald found unreasonably attractive.

Ed’s hands drew shivers all the way down Oswald’s spine, where they came to rest at the elastic of his waistband. “These too,” Ed said. He pushed his hands down the back of Oswald’s boxers to cup his bottom. “Off.”

It was easier to just obey than to think about it. Oswald was distracted enough by Ed squirming beneath him, pushing down his own pajama pants and underpants in one go, kicking his legs to free his ankles. The sight of him partially uncovered last night had not prepared Oswald for the sight of him in the morning light, completely bare. All of him so finely put together, and so long, from his elegant fingers and toes and those impossible legs, to...other parts, standing at attention.

With a shift of his weight onto his uninjured leg, Ed rolled Oswald beneath him, and caught off-guard Oswald allowed it. For a long moment, Edward just stared down at him, gaze roaming from head to toe. Oswald had never felt so open and exposed in his entire life. It was a testament to his trust of Ed, to even allow it. He had to fight the urge to cover himself with his arms, to try to duck under the covers, or simply run and hide. Or to say something to ruin the moment, to snap at Edward. Say something hurtful, poking at Edward’s own vulnerabilities.

Ed must have known that, to some degree. He knew Oswald as no other before. Just when Oswald thought he couldn’t take any more of the scrutiny, Ed lowered himself down, his full weight settling bit by bit over Oswald’s smaller frame, covering and concealing him. Even with his erection tucked insistently against Ed’s stomach, Oswald found it a comforting, grounding embrace.

“I would tell you you’re beautiful, if I thought you’d believe me.”

Oswald’s fingers spasmed, nails dug into Ed’s back at the acrid sensation in the his throat. The automatic protest that sprung up on the back of his tongue. The stinging in his eyes. But Edward didn’t give him time to deny it. “I’ll just have to show you, instead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eek, okay, I know this isn't the best place to end the chapter, but the whole sex scene was getting out of hand, and I'm already a day behind on my posting schedule, so I decided to split it into to two. I have an ending for this, I just have to let them finish having their ways with one another...


	5. Chapter 5

“Ed,” the name a trembling protest, as Ed began to slither down his body. Sinking back on his heels to trace his hands down Oswald’s chest, following that path with his mouth. The fingertips on his ribs verged on ticklish, but then Ed scraped his teeth over Oswald’s nipple. “Oh god!” He was not expecting that, like an electric shock straight down his body to his cock, making him leak. 

Ed chuckled and did it again, the nub caught between teeth and tongue, and flicked back and forth, before sucking. “Ohgodohgodohgod” the words were a litany devoid of meaning. Oswald writhed beneath Ed’s bulk. He tried to pull away, but Ed caught his wrists and pushed them back to the bed firmly. With one final nip, he pulled away with a lewd sucking sound, to pay equal attention to Oswald’s other nipple.

“Please, Ed, I don’t--I can’t--”

“It’s good, right?” Ed asked, looking up at him with a conspiratorial grin. Lips pursed against the hard peak of Oswald’s nipple, looking thoroughly obscene, and Oswald couldn’t control the heaving of his chest, the wild feeling like he was falling, even with the bed beneath him. Ed blew gently at the sensitive skin. “Like you could almost come, just like this.”

A whine rose up from the back Oswald’s throat. Ed’s voice, his words, his mouth, was utter torment, making his cock ache for his touch. Ed chuckled. “Don’t worry. We won’t test that theory.” He traced the very tip of his tongue around the areola. “This time.” 

“Ed--”

“Shh.” Ed placed a finger to his lips. He trailed his kisses lower, across the hollow expanse of Oswald’s stomach and the sharp rise of his pelvis. His hands released their hold on Oswald’s wrists and came to settle instead on his hips, glancing kisses over the soft, sensitive skin just above the line of pubic hair. 

Oswald curled his fingers in the bed covers to keep from covering himself, or grabbing Ed by the hair. Ed’s mouth, it seemed, was made to torture him, by word or touch. And this was torture, sweet though it was. Each brush of his lips, and teasing swipe of tongue bringing him closer to the source of Oswald’s longing, but never quite close enough. 

He was making the most dreadful sounds--high-pitched, breathless whimpers, between the pleas and Edward’s name. Struggling between the impulse to clamp his legs closed, or fling them open in abandon, in obvious surrender, begging for Edward’s touch. Ed traced his tongue down the crease between thigh and hip, and as a key turning in the lock, Oswald let his legs fall open for Edward to rest between them. 

It earned him a hum of mingled appreciation and approbation. He blinked his eyes open to look down at the lewd image they painted. Ed hands moved down to wrap around Oswald’s thighs, holding them open. Tongue swiping along gums within his closed mouth, then darting out briefly to lick his lips. “It’s really too bad, what I want to do to you would probably rip my stitches.”

“Don’t--” Oswald protested, and the rest of what he meant to say died on a started cry when Ed leaned down and licked a broad stripe up Oswald’s cock, from root to tip.

“You’re always wound so tight, Oswald,” Ed said. Oswald couldn’t focus on his word, could barely _think_. Ed’s lips closed around the head of his cock, easing back the foreskin, and licked the slick, exposed, terribly sensitive skin, worried his tongue at the slit. “Mmm,” he pulled back, tonguing the inside of his cheek and brought up a hand to dab at the fresh blood at the corner of his mouth. “Later.”

Instead he wrapped one hand around Oswald’s cock, and tried again, just licking this time. Delicate little swipes with the tip of his tongue. Oswald pulled at the sheets, hips twisting with the urge to thrust upward. Ed’s free hand snaked up Oswald’s hip, covered his hand and gently worked free the sheets from his grasp. 

“Sex is about giving up control,” he said, in that curious, thoughtful tone he got when distracted. He took Oswald’s hand and led it to his own head, closed Oswald’s finger around the ends of his hair. “So if you want to touch me, touch me.” He moved his hand faster, lips teasing over the head of Oswald’s cock with every word spoken. 

“If you want to pull my hair, do it. Fuck my mouth, roll me over, force me down, make me take you, and I will.”

Oswald’s fingers clenched obligingly, held onto Ed’s hair for dear life. “Ed,” He tried. It was too much, Ed’s mouth, and hands, and the things he was saying. What little control he had was fast slipping. 

Ed exhaled roughly through his nose, his grip shifting and slowing briefly as he adjusted himself. Oswald opened his eyes to look and almost choked on thin air, to see Ed touching himself as well, stroking frantically in time with his hand on Oswald’s cock. “What do you want?” he moaned.

Ed allowed Oswald to pull him upward. Even with his injury, Ed moved gracefully to cover him again. Their bodies aligned, Ed’s hands releasing them to allow bare cock to slide against bare cock. “You know,” Ed said, in a startlingly conversational tone, “there’s a woeful lack of lubricant in this house.”

“I, um,” Oswald threw his arm over his eyes, unable to look him in the eye. “I don’t--”

“I know,” Ed said indulgently. He nipped at Oswald’s bottom lip, then sucked it between his own with a sharp tug of teeth. “We’ll have to fix that.” He shifted his weight over Oswald, balancing on his good knee to reach for the nightstand, laiden with bottles of pills, creams and ointments. He grabbed one jar and fumbled the lid off. “I suppose this will do for now.”

Oswald watched from under the shelter of his arm as Ed slicked his fingers in the thick ointment and reached down again to wrap his big hand around both of their erections. “Oh god,” Oswald cried, hand coming up to seize Ed’s shoulder. His thighs trembled with the effort to hold on, just a moment longer, to warn Ed how close he was, while his tongue, heavy and inelegant in his mouth refused to cooperate. “I’m...Ed…please.”

“Yes.” Ed exhaled on a hiss. He flexed his hips, driving his cock through his hand, sliding tight and firm against Oswald’s. So close Oswald could feel every little difference in texture, the silky skin run through with veins creating a delicious counterpoint to the slick pressure of his hand. “Me too,” he grunted. “Go ahead.”

Oswald’s knee twinged in protest when he shifted his weight into the heels of his feet, braced on the mattress to rock upward into his touch. His hand slid down Ed’s back, over the curious map of raised skin, to cup his ass, squeezing even as his cheeks burned at his own daring. He used the grip for leverage, arching up and driving Edward down. 

“Oh, fu--Edward, I’m--” Oswald trembling muscles all seized up at once--painful, but oh so good--then relaxed again as he came, _at last_. Liquid warm pleasure spreading all throughout his body.

“You have no idea,” Ed panted, “no clue how incredibly sexy you sound.” He kept stroking Oswald throughout, each pulse spreading more of his release over them both. “It gives me all sorts of...ideas…” He snapped his teeth closed around Oswald’s ear.

Edward’s touch was fast becoming too much. But though it bordered on painful, Oswald couldn’t bring himself to put a stop to it. Not when Ed was still hard, and every touch, every word spoken poured molten heat down his spine. Oswald had never much differentiated that fine line between pleasure and pain. He recalled what Ed said, about doing whatever he wanted, whatever felt right, and gave into the desire to dig his nails roughly into the sensitive skin within his grip. 

Edward jerked, bit down hard on Oswald’s earlobe in retaliation. It muffled the ragged shout as he came, smearing together both their release. Oswald’s lips twisted at the thought, and Ed chuckled as he pressed a kiss to his disdainful expression. “Don’t look like that,” he murmured. “The best part of getting so filthy is cleaning up, after.”

Oswald took a moment to swallow down panic and fear, and smooth a cool expression over his face before finally lowering his arm. “You are incorrigible,” he said.

Ed was grinning broadly and pecked a kiss on his nose. “You love it.”

“I do,” Oswald said helplessly.

At that, Ed softened, giving him a sweet, close-mouthed kiss. “I love you, too. Now come on.” He scrambled up, and offered a hand up. “Shower time, before Mini-Penguin walks in on us like this.”

That was a bucket of cold water over any remaining arousal Oswald might have felt. He looked at the door in panic, and realised that neither of them had locked it after Martin left last night. He grabbed at the sheets, pulling them around himself as he worked his way out of bed awkwardly. His leg was stiff from sleep and sore from their...activities. 

Edward wasn’t much better, favouring his wounded leg. The bandage around his upper thigh was stained with a spot of rusty dry blood, and the skin around it red. He leaned against the rim of the bathtub as he tested the temperature of the water and stumbled when he tried to climb in. Oswald caught him around the upper arm before he could fall. Ed gave him a sheepish smile. 

“Thanks. We make quite a pair.”

Inexplicably, the words were warming. He gave into another impulse and went up on his toes to kiss Ed’s cheek. “We do.”

They took turns rinsing under the shower spray, clumsily supporting one another, helping to reach where their own hands could not, all the while trying to keep Ed’s bandage from the water. After, dried and dressed again--Ed in another of his left-behind pajamas, Oswald in the previous days clothing--Oswald was devoutely thankful there was no one around the house save Martin to see the proof of where he’d spent the night.

Ed finally accepted another dose of painkillers, and even allowed Oswald to tuck him back into bed. “One more day. Then we must act, before Barbara and Tabitha go getting any ideas about who is in charge.”

“Yes, yes,” Oswald agreed. It was strange he wasn’t more concerned. With Edward and Martin safe under his roof, he found it difficult to be troubled. He’d proven his strength to Gotham before. He’d always risen to the top, no matter who tried to stand in the way. He would again. “I’ll return with breakfast in a while. I should check on Martin.”

As if on cue, a knock came on the door followed by the rustling sound of paper sliding beneath. Oswald rose from where he sat at Ed’s side to pick it up, and blushed in mortification at what he read. He passed it weakly to Ed.

_Is it okay to come in?_

Edward dissolved into laughter, and then to Oswald’s dismay called out, “You can come in, Martin. It’s safe.”

Oswald gave him a quelling look, but it was too late. Martin turned the knob and pushed in, looking blissfully unaware as to what had actually passed between them. He pulled along behind him a dining trolley and held up his pad. _I asked Olga to help make a tray for breakfast._

Oswald could only guess what horrid sweet concoctions he’d talked out of the cook this morning. But then Martin pulled off the top sheet of his pad to reveal the next prewritten page. _I asked her to make something to help Ed feel better._

Ed fluffed his pillow behind himself and beckoned Martin closer. “What have you got, kiddo?”

Martin pulled away the top sheet of paper and lifted the tray cover with a flourish. _Breakfast smoothies._ His next page was aimed at Oswald with a hopeful look. _It’s like ice cream but healthy!_

Oswald patted his head. “Alright alright.” 

With his permission, Martin began to pass them around. A bright livid green for Edward, and one a shade of pinkish-purple for Oswald’s, and a frankly unappealing shade of brown for Martin himself. 

_Can we watch cartoons again?_

Before Oswald could answer, Ed was already flipping through the channels to find something appropriate. “Come on, cartoon time, Papa Penguin.” He was altogether unruffled by Oswald’s stern look, and patted the bed.

The amused, expectant expressions on Edward and Martin’s faces were eerily similar. “Very well.” He climbed up beside Martin and took a cautious drink of his smoothie. It was surprisingly good, a blend of berries and pomegranate and honey.

After a moment, Ed scooted closer, looping an arm behind Martin to lay his hand on Oswald’s back. Martin paid them no attention, already absorbed in the cartoon. “We’re not going to be making a habit of this,” Oswald warned Martin with a pointed finger. “Once Ed is feeling better, we’ll be taking our meals at the table.”

“Oh, come now, Oswald,” Ed cajoled. He swiped his tongue along his green smoothie mustache. “There’s no harm in having breakfast in bed every once in a while.” 

Martin scribbled quickly at his pad and ripped off the page for them to read. _So you’re staying?_

Ed’s smile warmed for Martin, and even more when he met Oswald’s gaze. “I’m staying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily, murderously ever after!
> 
> Now I'm debating between a long, slow burn fic, or a pure PWP chapter fic with the boys exploring their kinks together, and you can comment and tell me which kink you'd like to see next...decisions, decisions!


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